


Resentment #2

by voleuse



Series: Resentment [2]
Category: Alias
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-25
Updated: 2004-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-08 17:27:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He remembers the last time they were this close.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resentment #2

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for "Blood Ties."

  
When Vaughn regains consciousness, he finds his wrists tied, the restraints fastened to the ceiling, pulling him upright. The back of his head aches, where he was hit, and he can feel blood trickling from the wound. He's aware of the sting of numerous other bruises across his back and shoulders, and he knows he wasn't treated well on his journey to this place. His shirt is gone, and the damp air makes him shiver. There's no identification on the walls, but there's a bed, and a collection of medical equipment that doesn't bode well for him. He assumes he's about to be tortured in an abandoned warehouse, because that's what the Covenant _does_.  
  
Then he realizes Sark is there, leaning silently against the wall.  
  
"Agent Vaughn."  
  
"You son of a bitch," Vaughn spits out. "Whatever you have in mind, it'll never work."  
  
"Is that so?" Sark smirks, and something in Vaughn's gut turns over. "You hardly know what I have in mind." He stalks forward, until he's inches away from Vaughn, his mouth hovering over Vaughn's shoulder. "Or do you?"  
  
Vaughn holds his breath, remembers the last time they were this close, and his body stirs, almost against his will. Sark's hand snakes around his hip, and he stares at the leather glove like a rattlesnake, moans involuntarily as Sark grasps his cock, pulls gently at first, and then not so. "I dislike being manhandled, Agent Vaughn." Sark's voice is a low purr. "I demand respect, Agent Vaughn, in everything I do. You," he squeezes just enough to make Vaughn's hips buck, "denied me that."  
  
Vaughn curses, a long stream of obscenity spilling from his lips.  
  
"Would you like me to free you?" Vaughn doesn't answer. "What do you want, Agent Vaughn?" Sark's voice is condescending now, and his hand is merciless.  
  
Vaughn doesn't say a word, refuses to give in, but his hips move of their own accord, thrusting into Sark's obliging palm. He's painfully close, and he knows Sark can tell. His breath echoes harshly in the room.  
  
Then, Sark stops, and his other hand grabs Vaughn's hip, halting all movement. Vaughn whimpers. "Tell me where the Passenger is."  
  
Vaughn shakes his head, bites his lip until he tastes blood.  
  
"So be it." Sark pumps his fist, twice, and twice again, and Vaughn comes in his pants, the damp spreading like humiliation.  
  
Vaughn sobs, and Sark laughs harshly in counterpoint. Then the next stage of torture begins.


End file.
